Dead Tease (18 page)

The girl appeared so fast Lew was startled. “Okay, Chief, you ready for me to show you this?” asked Dani, her eyes eager as she held out her open laptop.

“Not that, not yet, I don’t have time for that right now—but I have something I’d like you to get on right away, please. Here’s the phone number for Dr. Daniels’s secretary, Brenda,” said Lew, handing her a slip of paper and ignoring the disappointment in Dani’s eyes. “I’d like you to call her ASAP and ask her to forward to you any e-mails that Dr. Cynthia Daniels may have sent to Jennifer Williams.”

“Okay,” said Dani. “Is this legal?”

Lew sighed. “If she gives you any trouble, I’ll have to get a warrant. But I suspect she’ll be happy to share anything that shows Dr. Daniels in a bad light. One other reason for her to cooperate is that I doubt she wants her superiors in the clinic to know that she saved those e-mails.”

“Right,” said Dani. “I see what you mean. Chief Ferris, I have another suggestion. Should I ask if she has e-mails that Dr. Daniels may have sent to other parties
about
Jennifer Williams?”

“Good idea. What I’m looking for is any evidence linking Cynthia Daniels directly to the victim. Right now all we know is that people working around those two women were aware that Dr. Daniels disliked Jennifer. But not liking someone is very different from taking their life.”

Now the hard part
, thought Lew once Dani had left her office. She picked up the keys to her squad car and told Marlaine where the switchboard could find her. “I’ll be gone for an hour at least,” she said.

Bonnie Williams was waiting at her front door. “Chief Ferris, please come in. Thank you for calling ahead,” she said. “Have you found the person who—”

“No,” said Lew, “but we’re close. I, um, you and I need to talk. May I sit down?”

“Of course.” Bonnie gestured toward a sofa that stood along one wall of the small living room. She took the rocking chair, which was at one end. Judging from the worn cushion, Lew could tell it was her favorite chair. And it faced a large screen TV that anchored the room.

Catching Lew’s glance at the television, Bonnie said, “Pretty big for the room, I know. Jennifer bought it for my birthday. She loved to come over and watch
American Idol
with me.”

“Nice,” said Lew as she sat forward on the sofa. She dropped her head for a long moment, debating where to start. She looked up and plunged in.

“First, you’ll be relieved to hear that the crime lab has released Jennifer’s body and it should arrive at the funeral home late this afternoon.”

“Okay,” said Bonnie. “I appreciate knowing that. My sister has been helping me with the arrangements.”

Lew tried not to let the mention of the sister, Chet Tillman’s wife, distract her from the difficult news she had to deliver. “Bonnie, I am afraid that what I have to tell you may be very upsetting—”

“Chief Ferris, Kerry Schultz came by this morning and told me. She felt that as Jennifer’s best friend, she should be the one to tell me the … the details.” When Bonnie stumbled over her words, Lew knew she was referring to the affair between Jennifer and McNeil, which would have been news to her.

“So, ah,” Bonnie sighed heavily as she spoke, “when Kerry heard that Cynthia Daniels was killed in that accident at the McNeil house, she figured that my daughter’s relationship with Mr. McNeil would have to become public.” Bonnie paused, then said, “Kerry is convinced that Dr. Daniels was jealous and killed Jennifer.”

“Hold on,” said Lew. “Please don’t jump to that conclusion. And I apologize—I didn’t realize that the EMTs removing Dr. Daniels’s body would have shared the news of the tragedy with Kerry and the other staff in the clinic’s ER. I understand Kerry’s reason for telling you, but it is confidential information. At this time, we have no evidence linking Dr. Daniels to your daughter’s death,” said Lew. “Yes, she was jealous. But is she guilty of murder? Bonnie, I am so sorry but we do not know that for a fact.

“I can imagine how you must feel but—”

“No, you cannot imagine how I feel,” said Bonnie, her face turning red as she gripped both arms of the rocking chair. “You can have no idea how I feel. First I lose my daughter, now I find she was having an affair with her boss? My Jennifer was a good girl. A good …” Bonnie’s hand flew to her mouth but the gesture was hopeless.

The woman broke into sobs. Getting up, Lew walked over to the rocking chair where Bonnie sat hunched over, her shoulders shaking. Lew knelt to put her arms around Bonnie. She held her until the shaking eased.

“Bonnie,” said Lew, murmuring in her ear. “None of us gets through life without making mistakes. Who is to say what went on between your daughter and Jim McNeil? He may have promised to leave his wife for her. There may have been something honest and deep and wonderful between them. We don’t know Jennifer’s side of the situation, and that makes it unfair for any of us to pass judgment.”

“My Jen was so young,” said Bonnie through tears. “He took advantage of her. Excuse me while I find a Kleenex.”

She got up, left the room for a minute, and returned with a box of tissues. Lew sat quiet on the sofa until Bonnie had composed herself.

“You’re right, of course,” said Bonnie. “I’m just thinking … well, I’m deeply embarrassed for myself and for Jennifer. Everyone will know. That’s what I hate. They’ll think so much less of my little girl.” She broke down again. Again Lew waited.

“All right, Bonnie,” said Lew. “I am going to share some information in confidence. Can I trust you to keep these details to yourself until there is an official release of the circumstances surrounding the accidental death of Cynthia Daniels?”

After pressing several Kleenex to her eyes, Bonnie nodded. Lew offered a more detailed description of Cynthia’s stalking of the McNeil home. When she had finished, Bonnie sat straighter in her chair: surely the news of Cynthia Daniels’s obsessive actions would overshadow anything her daughter had done.

“So you aren’t alone, Bonnie,” said Lew. “Think how Gladys Daniels must feel.”

Bonnie wiped away a tear. “At least my Jennifer is not guilty of a crime. An affair with a married man, yes, but she didn’t hurt anyone. Physically, I mean.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Lew, choosing not to mention that Jim McNeil’s wife might not feel too kindly toward Jennifer.

“The stalking. I can’t believe a physician behaving like that—how awful.”

“Gladys will be receiving some harsh news,” said Lew. “It won’t be easy for her. Nor is it for you. But that’s why, given what we know of Cynthia’s actions over the past few months, I need to ask if you are aware of any meetings or phone calls or communications of any sort that Jennifer may have had with Cynthia Daniels—inside or outside the clinic?”

“Not that I can think of,” said Bonnie. “Is it important?”

“Could be,” said Lew. “If you come across anything, please call me right away. Here’s my card with my cell phone number.”

As she left Bonnie’s home and walked toward her police cruiser the strange parallels between the two widows struck her: both had lost their husbands, now both lost daughters who—just days ago—were young women of such promise. And for both Bonnie and Gladys the circumstances surrounding the loss of their children were so grim.

Back at her desk, Lew was pleased to find a memo from Dani with copies of two e-mails attached. She had been able to reach Brenda at her new position, and Brenda was more than happy to forward the only two e-mails that Dr. Cynthia Daniels had sent to Jennifer Williams.

The first was a response to Jennifer trying to set up a photo shoot in the emergency room. All it contained were times that Dr. Daniels would be available. That e-mail was sent in March.

The second e-mail, sent in July, was more to the point: “Bitch, you don’t know what you’re getting into. Leave Jim McNeil alone. He’s mine. Keep it up and you’ll find yourself without a job.” It was unsigned.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After an early morning round of verbal wrangling, Osborne was able to persuade Lew to take the day off: “We promised Ray we would try the fishing kayaks. He’s counting on us—”

“He’s got Bruce, Doc. He doesn’t need me.”

“I need you. Please, Lewellyn, do not abandon me to the shenanigans of those two. You deserve a break—you have been going full tilt since last Tuesday. Even the good Lord gets a day off.”

“Okay, but on one condition—I log two hours in my office this morning. If I can make a tiny dent in the paperwork from the Wausau Crime Lab, I’ll be able to relax.”

“Deal. I’ll pick you up at ten
A.M.
sharp.”

Lew was waiting in the parking lot with her rod case, gear bag, a happy look on her face—and no uniform. She had changed into her fly fishing shirt, sleeves rolled up, and khaki shorts. “We’re kayaking the river, right?” she asked as she climbed into Osborne’s Subaru.

“Yep. Ray gave me directions to where he wants us to put in. I haven’t been there before. You?”

“Nope. Doc, I’ve only kayaked once in my life. Don’t let me do anything stupid like tip over.”

“That makes two of us. Can’t be that difficult—my grandchildren kayak all the time. They prefer kayaks over canoes.”

Twenty minutes later and north of town, Osborne drove down a rock-strewn country road, made two left turns, and pulled into a clearing behind Ray’s pickup. Bruce and Ray had already unloaded the four kayaks, which were red, yellow, blue, and green.

“These are twelve-foot recreational kayaks,” said Ray, “nice and stable. See the bungees on the sides? They’re rigged to hold your rods and plenty of space in the interior for tackle.”

“Will I need this?” asked Lew, holding up a long, black MIL-TEC bag with a roll top designed to keep gear and belongings from getting soaked in the event of a swamping.

“Chief, this isn’t Niagara Falls. You can throw everything you need onto the floor of your kayak. Do not worry about tipping over. I put our shore lunch in a plastic bag but that’s all.”

Bruce ran up from the landing where he had left two of the kayaks ready to go: half in the water, half on shore. He watched as Lew assembled her fly rod and slipped on the reel. “That’s an interesting reel,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve seen one of those before. That isn’t a Bogdan trout reel by chance?”

“It is,” said Lew with a proud grin. “Gift from my friend, here.” She yanked a thumb toward Osborne.

“Doc?” Bruce looked astonished. “Those can cost two thousand bucks or more!”

“I found it at an estate sale of an old friend of mine who collected fly rods and reels,” said Osborne. “Didn’t pay that much.” He didn’t disclose that he had paid $500: a cheap price to pay for the wonder on Lew’s face when she had unwrapped her birthday gift.

“May I see?” asked Bruce. Lew handed over her fly rod and Bruce ran admiring eyes over the reel. “I hear they only make a hundred of these a year. Is it worth the money?”

“It is in my book,” said Lew. “You pay for the engineering—the drag is exquisite. Smooth, strong. Since I’ve been using this reel, I’ve never had my fly line break. I don’t know that I catch more fish with this reel but I sure as heck land more.”

“Can I try it later?” asked Bruce.

“Sure.”

“So, Chief, you nymph fishing today?” Bruce turned a critical eye on the water. “I don’t see a hatch of any kind.”

“Dry flies for me,” said Lew, patting the box of trout flies she had tucked into her shirt pocket.

“Oh, really. What do you see?”

“Nothing, Bruce. I just like dry fly fishing—it’s prettier.”

“That’s not very scientific,” said Bruce, taken aback.

“No, it’s not,” said Lew with a shrug. “But it’s what I feel like today.”

While they spoke, Osborne had been perusing the water. The river was narrow near the landing with a slight current: more placid than he had been expecting, which was a relief. He knew this river was popular among kayakers but he wasn’t familiar with it.

Osborne rarely fished rivers. Their depths varied too much, and he detested the dead timbers submerged since the logging era and lurking just deep enough to sabotage the prop on your outboard. Rivers gave him the creeps.

“Ready, everyone? Man your boats.” Ray’s excitement was so infectious even Lew slipped into her kayak with enthusiasm, the worry that had been badgering her over the last few days gone for the moment.

“Doc? Need a hand?” Ray waded into the water to hold Osborne’s kayak steady as he got seated. “Everyone, listen up—I got your fishing rods right where you can reach ’em easy.”

“How far do we go before we stop to cast a few?” asked Lew.

“Not sure. I haven’t been here before,” said Ray. “A buddy told me about this river—said it’s got northern pike, steelhead trout—nice big fish. I figure we go down twenty minutes or so and see where we’re at. Sound good?”

Nothing about it sounded good to Osborne: What if he hooked a huge northern? How the hell do you land a fish that big from a one-man kayak that puts you nose to nose with a rack of evil teeth? He threw a questioning look at Lew but she was busy using her paddle to push away from the shoreline.

“Whoopee!” shouted Bruce as he shoved off.

Lew and Osborne followed with Ray bringing up the rear.

The August morning was lovely, warm and clear. As the kayaks moved soundlessly with the current, Osborne began to rethink his prejudice against rivers:
Oh, man, this silence is music.
An eagle circled overhead and a kingfisher darted from bush to bush. A Great Blue Heron launched from the riverbank with a swoop of its magnificent wings.

As Lew glided by, she said, “Hard to find fault with the world on a day like this.”

“I knew you’d like it, kiddo,” said Osborne. “Aren’t you happy I twisted your arm?” She smiled and nodded.

They rounded a bend and heard a soft rumbling in the distance. The sound grew louder and Osborne wondered if they were hearing a sawmill or some other machinery used by loggers.

Even as he speculated, he felt the current grab the kayak, pulling it faster, faster. Twenty yards in front of him, he saw the bow of Lew’s kayak go up, up, and up. Suddenly she was over and out of the boat. Before he could register that they had hit rapids, his kayak was tipped sideways and out he flew into the river.